


CHOICE

by redlipsforever



Series: CHOICE [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, M/M, Post-War, harry figuring out he is gay, slow build romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:45:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3554834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlipsforever/pseuds/redlipsforever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had taken Draco a very long time to realize that he always had a choice.<br/>And Harry was determined to figure out what choices Draco had been making lately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Insomniacs

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Harry closed his eyes tightly, trying to put on a face of pleasure. A hand slowly inched its way up his thigh, then teasingly went back down to his knee, making the circuit three times, each loop getting closer to its destination.

This isn't right. A voice in his head screamed. Harry ignored it and let out a strangled sound from the back of his throat. A mouth worked harder on his earlobe, encouraged by the sound.

He should be enjoying this. He should just sit back and enjoy the attention lavishly given by the warm body practically on top of him. He shouldn't feel nauseated and clammy, and he definitely shouldn't be thinking of a way to stop this encounter gently. Politely, even. There had to be an excuse, somewhere in the back of his mind—

The hand had found its destination, softly pulling at the zipper of his oversized blue jeans.

Harry bolted off the chair, toppling the hand and its owner straight to the floor in his haste.

“Merlin, Ginny, I'm sorry. I just—I can't go that fast—“ Harry started, offering a hand to her.

“Fast?” Ginny rebuffed his hand, “Its been months and we haven't done anything! What are you waiting for? We can mess around, Harry. Voldemorts dead. There are no more bad guys chasing you. We can have a normal relationship. A little groping doesn't mean the end of the world.”

“I know that, I just—“

“Just what, Harry? What excuse are we using today?” She picked herself off of the floor.

Harry had only gotten four hours of sleep the night before and lacked the patience he normally would have implemented. “Why is this so damn important to you?” He really didn't understand, it wasn't like it was that enjoyable. Certainly not enough to get this worked up over. “What?” He added after her look turned incredulous, even through all the fury.

“We are in a relationship, Harry. An adult, romantic relationship, how is this not important?” The den of 12 Grimmauld Place seemed to get smaller as the argument intensified.

“I was under the impression an 'adult romantic relationship' involved more than make-out sessions.”

“They do, most of them have sex!” A cold sweat swept through Harry. Sex. His insides squirmed. Ginny's face softened slightly, “are you alright? Your face just went pale.”

“Sex?” He croaked. “You're ready for that?”

“Yes. I am.” Harry grabbed the wall next to him for support. ““Do you honestly expect me to put up with months worth of rejections? Do you think I don't notice your wince every time I try to deepen a kiss with you? Or you shrinking away from me when I try to press myself against you? You won't let me sit in your lap, you won't even try to touch my breasts, I just don't understand you. Its like you don't even want me.”

“Of course I want you, Gin. I wouldn't be dating you if I didn't want you. What more do you want me to say? Just because I'm not like your countless other boyfriends fawning my paws all over you trying to get in your knickers, you get mad at me? How is that supposed to make me feel? What do you want from me?”

“I  want you to touch me!” She grabbed Harry's hand and pulled them flat against her breasts. They felt so lumpy and curvy (and wrong, a place in his head added). They felt so foreign and off. Why did guys talk about these mounds of fat for days on end. Harry couldn't see the appeal of them that seemed to fascinate others. He guessed he was more of an ass man. He had looked at Ginny's bum multiple times, that seemed to hold a less nauseating afterthought.

After about three seconds, his curiosity was killed and his hands retreated from the mysterious fat lumps and took a few large steps away, concluding he was just an ass man. Ginny's face showed extreme disappointment and it was clear to Harry that she hadn't expected this reaction. She had probably kept this act of brazen as a final weapon, with the intent of doing him in. But Harry hadn't even seemed phased.

“What the actual fuck, Harry.” She drew back, ran a hand through her red hair.

“I will try harder, I promise.” A wave of nausea gnawed at his stomach but he reached for her face anyway and leaned down to kiss her. I can do this. I can kiss her and make her happy and then we'll be fine—

But before his lips touched her, Ginny leaned away the anger in her eyes replaced with something entirely more heartbreaking. “That’s the point, Harry. You have to try to want me.”

She grabbed her bag that had laid against the armchair and stepped into the oversized fireplace. “You are hopeless at relationships, Harry.” And with the announcement of the Burrow, green flames swallowed her.

 

Harry continued staring into the fireplace after she had left, knowing he should go after her, knowing it was expected of him, but also knowing he wouldn't. He was hopeless at relationships, probably destined to be alone. If Ginny couldn't make him happy, how was anyone else supposed to? Ginny was perfect for him, he should be happy and want to make out with her.

He grabbed his wallet and headed out the front door. He needed some tea.

 

Insomniacs always had dozens of people buzzing in and out of its doors. It easily had the best tea and coffee selection in town, and with its cozy yet cool atmosphere, it was bound for success. Of course Harry liked it best because no one ever recognized him except for the baristas—who only knew him by “Earl Grey Guy” at best.  

Harry had taken his time walking to Insomniacs, trying to figure out why he and Ginny fought so much. He supposed he did seem like he was rejecting her, he would have to find a way to make her forgive him. It had been eleven months since the final battle and through all the grief and pain, he had finally been given the chance to figure out what he liked to do when he didn't have to constantly think about someone trying to kill him.  And while there had been a few attempts on his life via rouge ex-death eater out for revenge, the Aurors had done their job well enough that Harry didn't worry. He was free to figure out his personal likes and dislikes. He liked to go to Insomniacs, which was conveniently three blocks away, or the dog park across from his flat.

Harry slowly made his way up the line, which wasn't too long thankfully. He need some strong tea for the questions buzzing in his head—like why in Merlin's name Ginny would even want him to touch her there that badly. He longingly stared at the apple turnover on display. He took out his wallet and determined he would have just enough Muggle money to get his tea and his turnover when he heard it. That voice, that pompous drawl that had haunted him all 6 years he had spent at Hogwarts.

“Malfoy.” Harry's flat, shocked voice broke through the line making the well-dressed, blonde at the counter still when he heard it. Malfoy slowly turned to face Harry, his eyes wider than usual but otherwise his calm facade held its place. He hid his surprise well, better than Harry at any rate as he was sure he had somewhat of a ‘recent stroke’ face on.

“Potter,” with a deep breath he stepped forward slightly and offered his hand. Harry took it; he wasn't going to come out of this encounter the asshole of the two. Harry watched their slowly shaking hands carefully. Inwardly surprised by the warmth and scratch of calluses given off by Malfoy's hand.   “May I buy your coffee?” Malfoy said in a strained voice. Harry marveled at what must be deeply imbedded manners that he had never been on the receiving end of. Harry appreciated the strength it must have taken to offer.

“Oh, no really—“

“I insist.” Malfoy said and turned once again to the counter.

“Actually,” said the barista, “he drinks tea. Earl Grey to be exact.”

“Come here often, do you?” Malfoy smirked.

“Its near my flat.”

“Any turnover today? We have your favorite. You might as well if he's buying, eh?”

“Oh, no thanks, that’s really not necessary--”

“Just get the damn turnover, Potter.” Malfoy whispered, looking behind him at the impatient line.

“Ok, sure Brian,” Harry said to the barista. He headed over to the pick up counter as Malfoy took out his wallet and pulled out muggle money, looking as if he thoroughly understood it.

Harry’s mind was spinning. What the bloody hell was Malfoy doing in a Muggle Coffee House, using muggle money and buying Harry his tea? He’s up to something, he thought. He had to be if he was acting this way. Harry hadn’t seen him for over a year, the last time being an awkward encounter of wand returning on Harry’s part and a quick, quiet yet heard ‘thank you’ from Malfoy. Harry hadn’t heard anything about Malfoy since then. Not even a rumor. What had he been doing the last year?

Harry’s pondering was broken when Malfoy came to stand next to him to wait.

“What are you doing here?” Harry said.

“Waiting for my drink,” purposefully misunderstanding him.

“Since when do you go to muggle places? With muggle money, no less?” Malfoy opened his mouth to speak but Harry was just too curious. Thousands of theories were whirling through his mind, anything from terrorist to obliviate mishaps. It was sixth year all over again. “And what have you been up to this past year? You’ve been totally off the grid. No one knew, and I asked everyone--”

“Had no idea you cared so much, Potter.” Harry glared at him. “I’ve been right here. I live about four blocks from here, on Maple Lane.” Suspicious, thought Harry. And as if sensing his unease he added. “Plus no-one, typically I guess I should say, recognizes me.”

“Earl Grey’s, and apple turnover!” They turned and collected their items, making their way to the service table to get their sugar and cream. Harry raised his eyebrow in slight surprise that they had ordered the same thing, but he had bigger suspects to ask about.

“You live on Maple Lane? Why the fuck would you be living there?” An older lady next to Harry gave him a slight scoff at his language. He ignored it. “What happened to Malfoy Manor?”

“It no longer suited me.” Walking over to an empty table, Draco pulled a book from his messenger bag. Harry followed him, awkwardly not sitting. Without looking up from his book, Malfoy asked if he was waiting for an invitation.

Harry sat quietly for several minutes, fixing his tea correctly. He observed Malfoy; his trademark white blonde hair cut short with just a few frays over his eyes (which stayed immobile as he “read” making Harry wonder what he was thinking about). He had rolled up his sleeves in the unusually hot weather exposing Harry to see his Dark Mark. However, Harry was much more fascinated with a new tattoo on the inside of this wrist that spelled out CHOICE.

“Your tea will over brew.” Harry said, checking his watch.

“I like it strong.”

“It’s been six minutes.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Malfoy groaned, rushing to fix his very dark tea. Suddenly the weirdness of the situation began to hit Harry and he started laughing, and snorted and consequently laughed even harder.

“What are you on about, Potter?”

“Sorry, I just think it’s kind of funny. Surreal, I guess. Don’t you think it’s weird? I mean, we even ordered the same drink.” Malfoy didn’t look quite as amused. “I haven’t had much sleep lately.” Harry felt the need to add.

“Obviously.”

“But seriously, why Maple Lane? Out of all the places in London, in the world really, you chose Maple Lane?” Harry began to devour his turnover.

“It was nice, clean and fit my budget,” he determinedly stared at his hand stirring his tea.

Harry scoffed, “You have a budget?”

“Yes, that tends to happen when you’re disowned.”

“What?” Harry put down his cup, “why?” Malfoy just sipped his tea, clearing refusing to answer. Deciding he should keep things on the lighter side and not end things in a duel today, he said “that is a nice area. I live about a block away.”

“Near the park?”

“Yeah, I go there pretty often to think. Or escape Ginny.” Shit, why did I just say that?

“The Weaselette? Why would you need to escape her? Isn’t she your girlfriend?” Malfoy leaned closer, his interest peaked.

“Well, you know how girls can be--I’m sure you’ve wanted to escape Parkinson loads of times.”

“Way more times than that, but Pansy was never my girlfriend.” He leaned back again and took another sip.

Harry smirked, “Girlfriend, sex slave, whatever you called her--same principles--”

“Sex slave? Lets get one thing straight here, Pansy and I never slept together.”

“Never? Really?” Malfoy shook his head, “I owe Ron ten Galleons.”

Malfoy laughed, “he won’t know what to do with himself.” Harry ignored the jab at Ron, “why were you wagering about my sex life anyway?”

“Oh, you know, it just came up…”

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, “and how exactly does that subject come up?”

Harry was getting flustered now, “just talking you know, and it came up. I was completely obsessed with you in sixth year--” Harry stopped talking. They had been doing so good and Harry had stepped right onto a huge red button. Malfoy didn’t move, didn’t breath, waiting for Harry’s next words. Harry had many options, finish his sentence, get up and leave, or “Let’s just stick to the present, yeah?”

Harry wasn’t quite sure why he had picked this option so he instead chose to fold his napkin into impossible small squares.

“Why are you even talking to me?” Malfoy whispered, as if he didn’t want to know the answer and already regretted asking.

“I don’t know,” Harry said slowly, “I guess, I've always found you interesting.”

“Because I’m always up to no good, eh?”

Harry thought for a moment, “not exactly.”

Malfoy’s eyes buzzed, but before he could ask him to clarify--Harry noticed that his cup was empty. “I should probably get going...I’ve escaped for too long already.” Harry grinned and stood. Malfoy stood as well, ingrained manners and all that.  Harry shifted his weight to either feet and cursed how fidgety he was when he felt awkward. He reached out to shake his hand again, “it was actually decent talking to you, Malfoy.”

Malfoy nodded, his cheeks tinting with pink. And just as Harry turned to leave…

“You could owl me.” Malfoy cleared his throat as Harry spun around, convinced he misheard. “You know, if you wanted to, erm, get tea again. Or something.” He cleared his throat once more, and then sat without looking up and determinedly stared at his open book.

“Right.” And then Harry walked out the door with that same shocked, stroke-like face he had on when he had heard Malfoy’s voice earlier. Although this time, with a small smile tugging at his lips, because Draco Sodding Malfoy had just asked him to owl him sometime.

 

Harry didn’t go chasing over Ginny like he probably ought have when he got home. In fact, he wasn’t sure how it got to be ten at night at all, he was so lost in thought all afternoon. He had even forgotten about dinner. But it didn’t seem to matter much to him as he poured his second two-fingers of fire whiskey. Not much was mattering to him at all, actually.

He sat on his counter tops (a love he believes came from always having to clean Aunt Petunia’s counter tops) dangling his feet and taking in 12 Grimmauld place. This whole past year he had spent trying to decalcify this tomb of a house and he thought he had done a pretty damn good job. His days had only consisted of tea, housework, the Weasleys plus Hermione, and the occasional trip to Hogwarts for some volunteer repair work. If he was feeling really adventurous, he would go out for ice cream or people watch in muggle London. He hadn’t felt this free since those two weeks in the Leaky Cauldron back in third year.

Harry poured himself a third glass.

He jumped off the counters, and then held on to them very tightly for a few seconds afterwards, before making his way through the house. Nothing screamed at him anymore and no poisons lurked under the impression of dust. Kreacher no longer muttered threateningly in dark corners, but rather whistled as he cooked for Master Harry every day.

He made his way up the stairs to his bedroom where he spent a good fifteen minutes just staring at his wardrobe. Malfoy had looked so bloody perfect in his muggle clothes today. He stood there looking so natural in a crisp white button down shirt, black blazer and dark denim jeans. He could have been raised muggle, he fit in so well. And his stupid hair had been so perfectly messy in that “on purpose” sort of way with the exact right amount of strands falling into his eyes. Those stupid piercing gray eyes, and white blonde hair, and posh fucking accent. And that tattoo.

What in the bloody hell did that mean? CHOICE. Harry wanted to know the whole story.

Harry poured his fourth glass, grateful he had thought to bring the bottle with him.

He pulled at his ratty old t-shirt and baggy jeans (repeated ten-fold in his wardrobe) and promised himself he would update his closet tomorrow. If he was going to have to owl Malfoy then he needed a better wardrobe. He had to owl him, he had to know about that tattoo, if anything, he reasoned. He was dizzy.

He plopped on the bed, letting his now empty glass fall with him and took another swig of out of the bottle until somehow his eyes just seemed much too tired and his conscience seemed much too tired to remind him that he was supposed to be at the Burrow with Ginny…He just needed to close his eyes for a bit...

Harry was in a warm place, he liked it. Malfoy was in front of him, but it was young Malfoy with slicked back hair and an outstretched hand, “I can help you there…”

“I think I can tell for myself, thanks.”

And then young Malfoy morphed into the Malfoy of today with short hair and slight blonde stubble, a man’s body. Harry couldn’t help but notice. This time Harry took his hand and was rewarded with such a beautiful smile. It made Harry smile back.

Malfoy was on the ground now, an arm held above his face, protecting himself. The word ‘CHOICE’ lifting off of his wrist and floating in the air like a cloud, pulsing light until it was so bright that Harry had to look away…

 

“Harry, mate, wake up.” Ron called, lightly slapping his cheek.

“Ron? Wha..?” Harry tried to get up on his elbows, but the pulsing in his head made him fall back down on the bed again immediately. “Fuck.”

Ron grinned over him, handing him a bottle of hangover remedy. “Yeah, I heard you and Ginny got into it again, she wouldn’t tell me what happened but Hermione had to come over. Didn’t know you were so upset about it, you should have invited me over. I would have gotten pissed with you.”

The day before rushed into Harry’s brain, he remember the fight he should be more upset over, seeing Draco, drinking tea with Draco, dreaming of Draco…Malfoy. Dreaming of Malfoy. Thought that probably wasn’t any better. Harry gulped down the potion. ”Erm, right. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Yeah, I mean I get that she’s my sister and it might be a little weird, but I am here for you.” Ron said softly, flushing slightly.

“I know that, Ron.” Harry, feeling the potion take effect, he stood from the bed and walked over to the bathroom to start getting ready. “Listen, do you want to go shopping with me?”

 

 


	2. Dorky Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two bottles of wine for one person...can make a person do strange things. 
> 
> (It can, I tested it right before writing this just to be sure)
> 
> Enjoy!

PART ONE

CHAPTER TWO

Draco had finally settled into the perfect routine. There were no more surprises in his life, his days becoming so predictable it lulled him into a false sense of anonymity.

Until Harry Bloody Potter. Until Harry Bloody Potter had gone to that damn coffee shop. Now everything was fucked up. And he'd acted like a idiot, no scratch that. He acted like a daft poof that had dementia. What the hell had he been thinking? He told Potter to owl him sometime. Like he was some no name asking another equal at a gay bar. Or worse yet, a friend. He shuddered at the thought.

Oh god, he is going to know. Potter was bound to think him gay after he said to owl him. He could just see him with the golden trio laughing as the already shamefully failed recluse Draco Malfoy fell another few notches. Not that he cared what they thought or anything. Bloody Potter already thought he was so much better than Draco anyway. Him being gay would just reaffirm Potters belief.

And now suspicions…

Draco shook his head. His feet had a mind of their own, pacing for hours in this living room. They followed the first line of the area rug. Back and forth, back and forth.

Maybe I should move.

No that's ridiculous. Potter would notice and think it was fishy. And think it was about him. Potter thought everything was about him.

Despite himself, he looked to the window. As if waiting to see an owl swooping toward him with a letter. He was so stupid. Even if Potter would ever write, it wouldn't be hours within seeing him...

He was just lonely. He just wanted some attention and Potter just happened to be there and it was the polite thing to do to offer to buy his coffee. Anyone would have done it.

Who was he kidding?

It wasn't his fault Potter had always triggered some weird button. From the moment he hadn't shaken his hand....

No. Before that.

Draco sighed. Remembering their real first meeting at the dress shop. Draco had wanted him to be his friend then too, without even knowing who Potter was. He had been so desperate to impress another Hogwarts student. He had acted exactly as his father had taught him, and Potter had barely given him more than monosyllables, expect for when he defended that oaf Hagrid.

Draco sighed again. His little flash back had stopped his pacing and he looked over to the kitchen. It was 6:10. He was very behind in his schedule. And he hadn't gotten any damn reading done. Like he could have read with Bloody Harry Potter staring at him like he had grown another head.

He started preparing his dinner. It was Tuesday. He would be making lemon ginger chicken with stuffed potatoes and a spinach salad. His hand stilled as he saw the harsh black of the word ‘CHOICE’ etched into his ivory skin. He took a deep breath. He didn’t need to act this way. He didn’t need to panic, or bang his head against the wall like a guilty house elf. He didn’t have to feel this way about their conversation. No, he had a choice.

Draco always had a choice.

Taking another deep breath, he began preheating the oven as he chopped the ginger root desperately trying to keep his mind on task.

 ****  


Harry stared at the blank parchment. His mind just as blank. What the fuck would he write to Draco Malfoy?

Hey Malfoy, hows the muggle life treating you?

What was even more puzzling was the fact that he wanted to write to Malfoy. He wanted to know what he had been up to, what was the real reason he wasn't at the manor and why did he suspiciously pick a flat less than a few blocks from Harry's?

Should he start the letter with 'dear'? No.

Malfoy—

Good, good. The dash added a lot, he thought. Much better than a comma. Like this was a rushed activity. Not like he'd been sitting here staring for an hour.

Or two.

Whatever.

I'm not sure why I'm writing this, it's not like we've ever been close.

Harry crumpled the paper and threw it the growing pile in the trash bin.

Malfoy—

I'm heading out for a bite to eat, join?

Hmm. That could work. It seemed pretty nonchalant. Like an afterthought. Ok. He folded it and tucked it to Aurora's leg, his owl looked at him as though she knew he was doing something he shouldn't. He wished he could have sent this at lunch, lunch was much better than 6:53 at night, but he couldn't let Aurora out too often in the daytime or the muggles would notice. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

“To Draco Malfoy.” That felt weird to say. “And don't look at me like that Aurora”

She gave a small hoot and took off.

Five minutes passed.

Ten minutes passed.

Twenty minutes passed.

And finally Aurora came flying back in. Carrying a little note with the eloquent scroll of Potter on its front. Harry opened it while patting her head.

Potter, (he used a comma, the bastard)

I have already made my Sunday dinner (rosemary braised lamb shanks and asparagus), but there is plenty for two. I eat at 7:30pm.

11b Maple Lane.

Did Malfoy have a house elf he wasn't aware of? He was inviting him over to his house? Harry been thinking of just stopping at a hot dog stand or something. But this would be the perfect opportunity to snoop. He would ask all kinds of questions and maybe ask to go see the 'bathroom' and sneak out to look in a few drawers and cabinets instead.

He checked his watch. Then checked his kitchen. Maybe he should eat before hand? What the hell was rosemary braised lamb whatever? Seemed a bit above his normal eating habits, probably had some weird green garnish thing on top of the lamb. Who even eats lamb?

Malfoy.

He shut his refrigerator, with one a final longing look to his leftover pizza and grabbed his coat and keys and a bottle of wine on his way out. If he was going to dine with Draco Malfoy, he would need a bottle of wine.

What am I doing here?

Harry knocked on the door. He wasn't sure where his need to obsessively know where Malfoy was or what he was doing came from, but not knowing his whereabouts for the last year had really gotten to him and he wasn't going to look the other way when the world dropped him in his neighborhood.

Speaking of his neighborhood. Malfoy must have known that Harry lived on Grimmauld. The thought hadn't occurred to him until now. But then why wouldn't he have just lied to Harry? He could have just not told him he lived here?

The door swung open to Draco Malfoy clad in tailored dark denim jeans and white t-shirt that hung off him just right, his gray eyes seemed to soften in surprise. “I didn't think you'd come.”

“Why did you choose to live in my neighborhood?” Harry blurted out, all pleasantries forgotten.

Malfoy revealed nothing but a slight eyebrow raise.

“I already told you, it was clean and--”

“Bullshit, you knew I lived a few blocks away. Why?”

“It was the only muggle place I had ever heard of.”

“Really?” Harry said, not expecting anything. In fact, he hadn’t even expected to ask that question in the first place.

“But why are you living muggle anyway—“

“Let’s at least open that wine before you start interrogating me.”

Harry gave a somewhat apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he coughed, “um, thanks for the invite.” He walked in and shook off his coat, handing it over to Malfoy with a watchful eye. The house was very warm with cozy textures of rugs and wallpapers decorating the long narrow entryway. There was a staircase that Harry itched to go up...is that where Malfoy slept?

“Once you’ve finished appraising,” Malfoy said in a slightly irritated yet amused tone, “the dining room is right through here.”

“This is a great place, Malfoy.”

“I like it.” Harry nodded even though Malfoy couldn’t see him. The apartment smelled fantastic and suddenly Harry was happy he hadn’t eaten before he came.

Malfoy lead him through a very formal dinning room, which he didn’t even bothering pausing in, and walked into the kitchen. The kitchen took up the left side of the back room. It was different than the rest of the house, still warm and cozy, but more modern with lights handing down on top of a wide island. They lit up two perfectly plated dinners, despite Malfoy’s earlier statement that he didn’t think he would come.

“Wow, Malfoy, that looks fantastic.” Harry moved towards the island, taking a seat on one of the two barstools, his neck still frantically looking around taking in his house. It was nothing like he expected. On the other side of the room, was some sort of living room filled with comfy couches and a large fireplace.

Harry put the bottle of wine he brought on the island, although Malfoy already had two glasses poured for them with probably some ridiculously priced white wine. He supposed, Malfoy had thought he would need wine to spend a dinner with Harry too.

I’m about to have dinner with Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy took his seat next to Harry, lifting the wine glass up to his lips, swirling it slightly before tilting it to Harry and saying “Cheers.”

Harry lifted his up as well and took a sip, barely containing a groan at the light, perfect taste. Definitely expensive.

“Shit, that’s good.”

“Eloquent as always, Potter.”

“Harry.” Harry corrected, if he was going to sit here at Malfoy’s--er, Draco’s island and drink and eat and have a merry old time with him, they should at least be on first name basis.

Malfoy seemed somewhat unnerved at being asked to call his dinner campion by his first name, but tilted his head in concession. “Harry.”

Harry began to pick at his new jeans, would Malfoy notice they were new? Would he think he went out and bought clothes just to keep up with him? No that’s ridiculous. He was being paranoid. Plus, that’s not what happened at all, anyway. He had just wanted to update his wardrobe.

Harry shook his head and cut a slice of lamb, smothered it in escaped rosemary glaze and brought it to his mouth.

It was single handedly the best thing Harry had ever tasted in his life.  He made a low, guttural sound that he couldn’t have stopped even if he wanted to and began to cut the next slice. No other thought process but more coursing through his brain.

They ate in silence and Harry could tell Malfoy was slightly amused by his pompous smirk. The bastard knew he could cook, that much was obvious.

Draco ate slowly and sipped his wine thoughtfully, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle Harry was making. The sounds that he made as he tore through the meal had Draco feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

If he makes this much noise as he eats...just imagine in the bedroom…

No Draco, do not imagine that. Imagining that only lead to very bad things. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He hadn’t had one of those thoughts about Potter in a very long time.

Well. At least a few months.

Draco was in trouble.

“What?” Harry couldn’t help but ask, wincing slightly as his mouth was still too full.

“Just enjoying the show,” Malfoy took another sip. His glass was almost empty. Harry finished chewing and reached over to refill their glasses.

Harry swallowed too much food at once, feeling it uncomfortably move down his throat. “Better to eat, than talk to you.” Draco looked at him with an upturned eyebrow. Harry swallowed. “Sorry, didn’t mean that. Force of habit.”

“Understandable,” Draco laughed lightly and poured another glass of wine. The white was almost empty now.

“When did you learn to cook like this? It really is amazing. Do you cook like this all the time? Or is there just a house elf lurking around here somewhere?” Harry said with still too much food in his mouth. But he had to know. He was dying with the need for answers.

“I learned when I moved out here. It’s very similar to potions, I suppose. You need to follow directions, but still have some instinct...I enjoy it.”

“Good bloody instincts,” Harry said without a thought and then felt his face redden, “for a git like you.”

It was tense for a few minutes, and then Draco rolled his eyes and took another sip of wine. “Okay, how about a question for a question? Since you seem to have so many I think it would only be fair.”

Harry mulled it over as he shoved asparagus into his mouth (after devouring the lamb). “Sure, okay, that’s fair.”

Draco leaned in further, his leg crossed gracefully over his knee. “Why do you need to escape the Weaslette?”

Harry knew it was coming, but had hoped it wouldn’t. “Pass?”

Draco smirked, “not a chance.”

Harry scoffed, “well you just remember that for your next question. But uh, okay, well.” Harry felt his face heating up again. “She just seems to want different things than I do from the relationship.” There, that worked. That wasn’t lying and it didn’t give too much away.

“What is it that she wants--”

“Uh, uh, uh. My turn.” Harry smiled, shoving in the last of his asparagus. Draco stood to open the bottle of wine Harry had brought, motioning for him to continue.

“Why aren’t you living at the Manor anymore?”

“Because I chose not to,” he smiled and poured them another glass. How many had they had now?

“Why didn’t--”

“My turn,” Draco walked around the island to take his seat next to Harry again, he sniffed the wine judgmentally but didn’t wince when he took the first sip. Harry took that as a good sign. “What does Ginny want from the relationship?”

“Sex,” Draco nearly choked on his wine. Harry didn’t let him get another word in and jumped right into his question. “How do you afford this place?”

“I have a job,” Harry, thankfully, hadn’t been near his drink.

“You have a what?”

Draco ignored him. “Why don’t you want to have sex with her?”

Harry’s smile drained, “I don’t know, it just doesn’t hold any appeal,” Stop talking Harry.

They sipped their wine for a minutes before Draco’s eyes lifted to his, “Er--it’s your turn.”

“Oh. Right. Er, oh! Where do you work?” Harry drank more wine. How did his glass get full again?

“A little bookshop a few blocks from here. You probably don’t know it--”

“The Raven?” Draco nodded, “I’ve been there. I’ve gone a couple times when I’ve needed to get some fresh air. I can’t believe I never saw you there.” Draco smiled at him and something felt weird so Harry casted his eyes down to his empty plate.

“Here, let me clear this for you.” Draco stood and collected their dishes, leaving their glasses, and spelled the sink to quickly wash them.

“Thanks for dinner, Draco.”  Draco turned around from the counter and stared at him.

“That sounds so weird coming from your mouth.”

“What? Your name?” Harry stood, bringing his glass to his lips for another sip. “Draco?” Draco turned around again quickly to face the counter and mumbled yes. Draco cleared his throat and turned to motion for them to take a seat in the living room.

“It will be more comfortable.” He reached for another bottle out of the built in rack hand stilling as he grasped the bottle, “unless you need to go?”

Even though he obviously should say yes, I need to go, I need to not be here, and I need to not be here with three bottles of wine in my system because how I supposed to snoop if I’m drunk and otherwise have no business being here, he instead said, “no, I can stay.”

Draco smiled at him, “excellent.”

This was a bad idea. This was an extremely bad idea. Draco couldn’t think of anything else as he opened the third bottle of wine. Draco had wine often enough but his head was already feeling light and giddy and his lips were getting numb which meant he was getting drunk. That’s how he knew. Although he walked without leaning in any particular direction. He took a seat on one of the two couches and placed the bottle and his glass on the coffee table. He had expected Harry to sit on the other couch, as was customary (or at least would be, if he had ever invited anyone else over here), but no. Harry sat directly next to him, barely four inches apart. Draco watched as he leaned forward to place his--now empty--wine glass on the table. Draco was tempted to tell Harry that wine was supposed to be drank slowly, to savor the taste, and not gulp it down, but as the brunette slowly tilted his head towards him, smiling lazily, Draco didn’t say a word. Almost like he wanted to encourage him getting drunk.

“I like your place, Draco.” Harry said, slowly drawing out Draco’s name. As if he was testing it out on his tongue. Tracing his letter with flicks and caresses. Draco gulped at his wine. He really needed to stop saying his name. “It’s your turn.”

“Are we still playing?” Draco barely resisted the urge to mess with Harry’s hair. It was so messy and out of place, and Draco didn’t do well with things in his life that were messy and out of place. Except for Harry. Potter had always been messy and out of place and too intense and entirely too uncontrolled. Draco’s hand twitched.

“Don’t you want to?” Oh, yes. How Draco wanted. Harry poured himself more wine. “I think it would be good to get to know you better. Find out what you’re planning. Why you are so fascinating. You’re just this poncy git…” Harry shot open, almost bigger than his round-rimmed glasses. “Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“I knew you thought I was up to something. And here I thought we were having such a nice diner.” Draco tried to laugh, but it was hard for him to ignore the fact that something fell very heavily in his stomach and he was having the most ridiculous urge to run up into his bedroom and never come out.

“We were!” Harry rushed to say, putting his wine glasses down, “we are!” The red started creeping into his face from his neck. “I didn’t mean to drink this much.” He said almost to himself, his lips pouting out as if he was confused as it how it happened.

Draco began to calm down. Ok, so Harry didn’t mean it like that. It was all ok. “Nonsense. Here,” Draco poured him more, “it is my turn, correct? How about you tell me why you are so fascinated by me?”

Harry’s blush deepened further. Well, isn’t that interesting. “I, well. I just said it, didn’t I? I don’t know why, you just are.”

They were quiet for a while, both just listening to the sound of each others breathing. Draco didn’t really know what to think or do. He hadn’t felt like this...ever. He was shaking slightly, yet calm (probably from the wine, Harry poured them more, smiling crookedly at him). Some unknown emotion swelled in his chest, he was finally getting Harry to smile at him. He was finally allowed to call him Harry. The ability made him giddy, uncertain, slightly nauseous. What was he doing? Sitting here, enjoying dinner and drinks with Potter. Did Potter know he was a poof? Was he just acting and was planning on humiliating him later? Did Harry really want to be his friend? It seemed unnatural. It seemed too good to be true.

“Let dance!” Harry said, jumping to his feet, and then slightly swaying to the right and had to grab onto Draco’s shoulder to balance. His hand felt like lava, seeping it’s heat through Draco’s thin t-shirt. He held back the startled noise that came out of his gut.

“What?”

“Lets dance, Draco! I want to dance! Do you have something to play music on? Like a record player or CD player? A radio? I mean, since you’re so muggle now.” Harry gave him a ridiculous wink, and while Draco realized he was being facetious his stomach still lurched.

Draco picked up Harry’s hand that was still resting on his shoulder and relocated it to the back of the couch. “Uh, I think I may have something upstairs. Hold on a moment.”

Draco rushed upstairs and bypassed the radio on his nightstand to instead run to the bathroom where he splashed water on his face and attempted to control his breathing that he told himself was out of breath due to the stairs (better to be unfit that completely infatuated with Harry Bloody Potter. Not that he was. Oh, who was he kidding). He looked at himself in the mirror, grateful there was nothing in his teeth or anything likewise embarrassing. He needed to get a grip. Harry was just tipsy and having a good time. And he probably just had some sort of brain damage during the war and that’s why he was over and actually talking to him. Because there was really no other good reason Draco could think of--or at least, none that seemed plausible.

“Just relax.” He told himself before finally drying his face and leaving the bathroom, grabbing his radio and putting more product in his hair and desperately trying not to think too hard about why he had.

Once downstairs, he almost dropped the radio at what he was seeing. Harry was dancing to nothing but the music in his head, shaking his hips while moving around the coffee table drinking from directly from the bottle. Draco noticed with a start, a different bottle. The third bottle lay empty on the table with the cork screw next to it.

“Oh good! You have a radio!” Harry said with a wide grin. He had opened a ridiculously expensive bottle of pino grigio but Draco didn’t even mind. It just showed the boy wonder had good taste after all, and he never would have guessed that. “Hope you don’t mind.” Harry said nervously, gesturing to the open bottle dangling at his side.

Draco smiled and approached him, maybe getting a little too close, “not at all,” taking the bottle and bringing it to his lips. He liked that Harry felt at home here. Maybe a little too much. Especially since Harry was smashed and probably didn’t even notice that he did.

Harry grabbed the radio and turned it on, finding an alternative rock station and seemingly knowing the worlds of the song he began to wildly dance to.

“C’mon Draco! Dance with me!” He yanked Draco’s hand and laughed as they both toppled forward until they could jump around and dance quite ridiculously. Draco was never taught to dance like this. His parents made sure he knew all the proper ones, even some muggle proper ones, but never dancing like this. Never dancing for fun, never dancing with freedom and feeling and nothing at all. He liked it. “It’s called Dorky Dancing. I’m shite at actual dancing, so the only rule of Dorky Dancing is that you have to look as dorky as possible, okay?” And he promptly began start shaking his hips with his hair and somehow manage to keep his glasses on.

They kept dancing and drinking and then drinking and dancing, never letting the bottle touch the table again until it was gone from being passed back and forth bottle to mouth too many times.

Finally, a commercial break came on and Harry flopped down onto the couch going for the radio to, assumably, find a station without a commercial, but when he realized it was too far away he gave up and let his head rest against the cushions and smiled, yet again, at Draco. Draco smiled back from his spot next to him. They both tried to calm their breathing, harsh from exertion and wine. Draco felt dizzy.

They didn’t talk until another song came on, but it was a slow one. And neither of them went to get up, instead Draco turned his face to gaze at Harry. He started at his feet and traveled slowly upwards, noting that he looked much more presentable than their meeting at Insomniacs. The jeans almost looked new, he’d surely never seen him wear them at Hogwarts but it had been so long since he knew every article of his wardrobe, since he knew how he liked his tea, and if he would go for strawberry or raspberry jam.  He used to know so much about Harry. His eyes then moved to the flat pane of his stomach, hidden behind clothes but still toned and tanner than Draco could ever hope to be. His shirt had ridden slightly up in their dancing, leaving an inch of skin showing above his jeans that made Draco want to lean forward and lick it. Shaking his head slightly, he watched Harry’s chest rise and fall slower but still rapidly as when they had first sat down. And his eyes greedily took in his exposed arms, tan and strong, with lithe muscle under the skin that made him itch to touch him. He wanted to touch him so badly. And what harm would it do really? Just skim his forearm, maybe even pass it off as an accident...He lifted his eyes to Harry’s face and started with his realized Harry was staring at him. He couldn’t look away. Neither of them could. Those sodding green eyes that seemed to know fucking everything about him and he didn’t want Harry to know all those things...not yet...

Draco jumped when Harry’s hand came up to his wrist, his eyes darting down to watch as Harry slowly stroked the word etched into his skin forever, his hand pressing so gently against him he could barely feel it. But the heat, the heat, from Harry’s hand seeped into him, warming him from the inside out. It was worse than his hand being on his shoulder. Setting him on fire. There were no barrier. It was skin to skin contact and at first Draco couldn’t breathe. But then his breathing sped up, his chest now heaving. The slide of Harry’s palm against the back of his hand kept slightly moving with every stroke of his thumb. It felt so good to be touched. He realized that Harry had said something, he asked for him to repeat it.  

“What does this mean to you?” Draco finally took his eyes off the movement of Harry’s thumb, the sight of Harry’s hand purposefully cradling Draco’s hand, almost as if he were holding it, Draco had to save the image to his memory forever since this was likely was never to happen again. The perfect storm of alcohol and emotions and Draco could barely bring his eyes to Harry’s because he knew he would be ruined. It took him a minute to realize that Harry meant his tattoo, not their hands touching.

“It means,” Draco had to clear his throat, he watched as Harry’s eyes drifted down to Draco Adams Apple --or was it his lips?-- “it means, I always have a choice. No matter what. That I’m in control. That I can choose how I want to live.” Harry’s hand stilled and Draco braced himself for the inevitable draw of Harry’s hand back and to never feel it again...but Harry didn’t pull away. He wrapped his fingers around Draco’s wrist and pulled. Draco made a surprised yelp before the sound was chased away by Harry’s lips.

Draco tensed up for one tenth of a second, before fully throwing himself into the kiss. Harry made a low noise in the back of his throat as Draco’s other hand, unattached to Harry, laced threw the black mess of hair that he had always desperately wanted to touch. He angled his body to get any inch of him he could to touch the other. Harry’s lips were moving with him, fighting against him, clinging to him until finally it wasn’t enough and Harry’s tongue lapped at the bottom of his lips frantically seeking permission to have more of Draco.

Draco gladly opened his mouth, melting down against Harry as their tongues finally made contact. It was everything Draco had always wanted, and nothing he had prepared for. His hands couldn’t stop shaking. And when Harry’s other hand came up to rake his fingers against Draco’s chest, pulling at him through the fabric, Draco was fairly sure he had lost his mind.

Harry pulled away, breathing heavily as he let his hand rest against Draco’s chest, his other hand going to intertwine their fingers. He tilted his head slightly to the left and smiled drunkenly at Draco. His glasses were askewed and his lips were dark red, just making Draco want to kiss him again. But before he got the chance, Harry’s head came to rest on his shoulder and he promptly fell asleep.  
  


 ****  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I hope you liked it :)
> 
> One more chapter to go!


	3. The Big Choices

PART ONE

CHAPTER 3

 

 

**D,**

**Will you be home by 5? I’m starving.**

**-H**

  


_You know perfectly well that I arrive home at 3pm. And that I do not eat dinner until 7:30pm._

_\--D_

  


**But I’m hungry now. There’s no way I could wait until 5**

**-H**

  


**I’m coming over. See you in ten.**

**-H**

 

Harry watched the ink fade into the paper. Their two way communication paper had saved him from a painful murder by owl. For the first few weeks of Harry and Draco’s friendship, Harry had sent Aurora on so many trips to 11b Maple Lane that she actually flat out refused one day when he was trying to get her go for the 5th time in an 8 hour period. He invested in Communication Paper, a very useful parchment he got at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes so that he and Draco could send little messages like this. Harry’s only problem was that the conversations faded away and he couldn’t keep them.

 

Because, they were funny and all. No other reason. He wasn’t some sentimental git or anything.

 

Harry grabbed his keys and wallet, and trying not to think too hard when he (in vain) attempted to tame his hair in the mirror for a few minutes. He was grateful he had removed all the talking mirrors in the house.

 

He took his time with the stroll, enjoying the cool breeze. It was still bright out and warm so he was comfortable in his new clothes. He had done a lot of shopping lately. He wasn’t sure why. Or rather, he didn’t want to think too hard why. It was probably because he hung out with Draco so often. Draco always looked so put together. Once, Harry came over basically uninvited on a Wednesday night at around 11. He had just had a fight with Ginny and it had been bad. She throw a vase at him. Which he actually thought was fair and far better than one of her Bat-Bogey Hex. He knocked on his door, hoping Draco was up but wasn’t too optimistic. But then the door swung open with a sleepy Draco in loose sweets and an oversized white linen shirt that was all but see through. The three buttons on the top had been open and Harry could have sworn that he glowed in the dark he was so pale. But he looked so perfect. It could have been a commercial. For what, Harry didn’t know. Perfume, probably. He smelled really good that night. His hair was perfectly tousled and his eyes twinkling. He gave Harry this ridiculous half grin as if he knew that Harry would be there. Neither of them said a word, he just opened the door and let him in.

 

Harry now owned an oversized, linen shirt with three buttons on the top (although his was black, so it wasn’t the same, he told himself in the store). He slept in it almost every night. But with his boxer briefs, so really it wasn’t the same.

Harry had barely touched his knuckles to the door before Draco swung it open with that same half smile.

 

“You’ll have to wait at least 20 minutes before the chicken parmesan is done so you’ll just have to wait.” Draco didn’t even bother to shut the door behind Harry and just turned around to head back to the kitchen. “And the vegetables won’t be ready until even after then because you just had to come early because you’d starve to death. So dramatic.”

 

Harry grinned and quietly shut the door. He knew Draco wasn’t actually mad at him for coming over early, he just liked his routines. They’d never really talked about it but Harry made mental notes whenever Draco mentioned a certain time. Or randomly moved something that Harry wouldn’t have thought of as out of place.

 

Draco motioned at the island when Harry entered, “here I made some snacks so you wouldn’t disintegrate in my kitchen. I’ve just washed the floors.” Harry grinned and grabbed a slice of cheese with cracker. Of course there was wine already poured.  Draco had probably done all of this in the 10 minutes before Harry had gotten here.

 

“So how was work?” Harry asked as he watched Draco move all around the kitchen, tossing the salad and slowly swaying to a song in the background. They hadn’t talked about what happened the first night Harry had come over. It had seemed that they both thought it’d be a good idea to act like it never happened. And nothing did happen, not really. Just two young men with too much wine in their systems. Or something.

 

“Work was work. I helped an old lady pick out a naughty book. It was entertaining.”  Draco didn’t turn around as he spoke, he just focused on cutting the vegetables.

 

“How naughty are we talking here?” Harry shoved another cracker in his mouth.

 

Draco looked back at him, “you don’t want to know.”

 

“Hmm. I suppose I don’t.” Harry said in a low voice, his eyes taking in Draco. What was he even dancing to? His hips were just swaying back and forth. And how did Draco’s jeans fit so perfectly? Harry’s never looked like that. I mean, not that he could look too hard at his own arse--and not that he was looking at Draco’s arse, he was just looking at his jeans. He cast his eyes back down on the crackers and cheese. Those were much less confusing. He had caught himself staring at Draco’s backside entirely too many times. No matter how innocent it may be, most blokes don’t go staring at each others ares’s right? But he noticed other things too. Like once, Draco was wearing this loose top and his shoulders and collar bones were showing, Harry wanted to feel them under his hands...maybe even under his tongue…

 

Harry jumped in his seat and shook his head, as if trying to shake that thought out of his head and back wherever the hell it came from.

 

Draco laughed, looking at him, “you alright?”

 

Harry sat up straighter, “yeah, just, er, imagining that book,” Harry faked a shudder.

 

Draco gave him another half grin and turned his back to him once more. Harry felt red all over and somewhat queasy. He was just hungry.

 

“So, how is the Weaselette?”

 

“She’s...uh, good? I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her in a few days.” He’d been meaning to, honest. Somehow whenever he thought about her something always came up or he was hanging out with Draco.

 

“Oh? Why’s that?” Harry shrugged even though Draco couldn’t see him.

 

“I just...don’t feel the need to talk to her? Merlin, that sounds horrible…” Draco turned and began to dish the vegetables in the pan on the stove, looking at him curiously.

 

“And why’s that?”

 

Because I have you was the first thought that popped in his head, but he didn’t think that would be okay to say. Harry stared at Draco’s arm as he cut up the kale. His forearm kept flexing, making the Dark Mark move, so strikingly black against the paleness of his skin and raised veins. He watched the word CHOICE almost bounce on his wrist, taunting him. What would it taste like…

 

“I don’t know, Draco!”

 

Draco’s eyebrows shot up, “alright then. Eat more crackers, Potter, you get grumpy when you’re hungry.”

 

Harry grabbed another cracker and shoved it in his face, guilt instantly invading his gut. Draco was just trying to be a good friend and ask about his girlfriend troubles. Harry shouldn’t be biting his head off. Draco always brought up Ginny and he didn’t want to talk about Ginny. He didn’t want to think about Ginny. It made him feel heavy in his gut, like he was doing something he shouldn’t. But he wasn’t. Right? Draco was his friend. He had become a very close friend in a very short amount of time. He talked to Draco now more than anyone. He was over here at least 5 days a week, most of the time 6. Draco always said it wasn’t a big deal because he always cooked so much anyway and Harry had started to clean the dishes now too (although he stayed the hell away from putting them away because he never knew where the proper place for a tea cup was and which way it needed to face and with which dish it needed to be aligned with. So he just washed them. With a spell. But that didn’t matter).

 

He felt useful. He felt challenged. He felt excited. Coming over became the highlight of his day. Draco worked in silence, still swaying slightly, as Harry pondered his thoughts while demolishing the platter in front of him.

 

When they both sat down it was a tense silence. Harry couldn’t tell whether it was because he had snapped at him or because they were eating almost a full two hours early, but either way he wanted to fix it.

 

“This is really good, Draco.”  
  


“Of course it is.” He replied without any bite in the words, but still somewhat short.

 

“Sorry we’re eating so early.” Harry tried again.

 

“Not a problem.” Draco continued to take small bites of his meal without looking up.

 

This left only one other reason he could be mad and Harry squashed the tightness in his chest and the lightness of his stomach to say, “listen I really don’t know why Ginny and I fight so often. I feel like it shouldn’t be like this. And I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. It just...it doesn’t feel natural.” Harry really needed to stop talking, “ I feel like I’m forcing myself to be with her, and I don’t know why I’d have to. I’m just..I’m just really confused.”

 

Draco put his wine glass down, his lips pursed in one of the looks Harry had started to call ‘bitch Draco.’ This was going to bad. Harry knew he shouldn’t have said anything.

 

“Do you honestly have no idea? Are you really that bloody clueless?”

 

Harry was baffled. That was not the response he was expecting.

 

“Uh, no. Why, do you know?” Harry said with a small laugh on the tip of his tongue when it was abruptly quieted when Draco stood from his barstool and began to pace the length of the counters. Harry was grateful the island was between them. Draco looked ready to punch him.

 

“You are so sodding stupid Harry Potter. I can’t believe this.” Draco continued to mutter to himself, Harry drank more wine. He felt like he would need it. “Do you honestly not remember the first night you came over here?”

 

Harry’s cheeks colored, “Well, I mean, yeah I got bloody trashed and we, um, dorky danced? I think? I don’t remember much after that…” a horrible thought struck Harry, “Oh no, I thought you said I didn’t do something even more embarrassing? Merlin, Draco, look I’m sorry for whatever I said or did--”

 

Draco was now standing in front of him. He had swung Harry around so that they were facing each other, Draco still with a few inches on him. Why did he have to smell so good? So manly. So masculine.

 

Draco’s eyes were burning into him and he really didn’t want to look up at them but he felt like he had to, like something really important was happening right now, and he was supposed to look up at him, like he was supposed to be eaten alive by Draco...consumed, but, why would he--

 

“We kissed, Harry.” Harry head shot up.

 

“What?” Harry said in an extremely high pitched voice. He cleared his throat to clear it, “we, we, kissed?”

 

Draco nodded. Harry was finding it extremely too hard to breathe. And it was entirely too hot in the room. And Draco was standing extraordinarily close to him and this could not be happening.

 

“Listen, Harry, breathe ok?” Draco ran his hands up and drown Harry’s arms, before sitting back down on his barstool and leaning towards him. His face had softened and his eyes widened in sincerity. He sucked in a deep breath and scratched the back of his neck, “look, I’m gay. And, I think...I think you might be too.”

 

Gay.

 

G A Y

  


“I--I need to get out of here.”

 

Harry shot off the barstool and all but ran out of the house, with Draco yelling behind him telling him not to go. Harry didn’t even stop to grab his coat before he was shutting the door.

  


It was 7:18pm and Draco hadn’t even started dinner. He had been pacing in his office since he got home from work. He was on his third firewhiskey and had been staring at his pack of cigarettes for the better part of an hour trying not to give in to temptation. But Draco had never been particularly good at that.  But he was different now. He made conscious choices now. He didn’t do drugs anymore, didn’t get drunk every night, didn’t fucking run around with Death Eaters. He was different, better, and he was damned sure not going to let Harry Bloody Potter, the Boy Who Didn’t Know He Was Gay, to fuck that all up.

Or maybe a more accurate name would be “Harry Potter the Boy Who Pretended To Be Straight” and lived on to have 2.5 kids with the Weaslette. Although, Draco couldn’t bring himself to be mad at Ginevra. She didn’t ask for this. It was like Pansy two years ago. She said that she had always suspected Draco to have “other inclinations” as it was known in the pureblood world, but he didn’t completely believe her.

“Stupid fucking Potter,” Draco downed his firewhiskey and poured another.  “Stupid fucking me.”  
He knew he shouldn’t had said anything. He knew how he first reacted to the idea when Blaise had sat him down with a very cautious face. It’s a weird feeling when someone knows something so intimate about you before you did. He should have just kept his mouth shut. It would have been fine. He had tucked Harry in on the couch that night, placed a trashcan by his head just in case, and camped out on the other couch. He knew the morning was not going to be good, so he stayed up as long as he could, just watching Harry and reliving the kiss. Harry had initiated it, he was sure of it.

However, by the time he woke up, he had squinted his eyes to check on Harry, but he was not on the couch. At first he thought Harry had skived off (which he wouldn’t had blamed him for) but then he heard sizzling and looked up to find Harry in his kitchen cooking.  He had slowly gotten up from the couch, half convinced he was either still asleep or still drunk, but no, there he was, making them breakfast. That morning had been so strange.

 

_“Good Morning,” Harry said, slightly blushing, “I hope you don’t mind, I drank some of your Hangover Remedy.”_

_“Oh no problem. Is there any left?”_

_Harry had nodded “I put it on the coffee table for you.” When he went over to check, he noticed Harry had cleaned up a bit and put away the wine bottles and folded his blanket. Draco took a big sniff of the air, his stomach making an appreciative sound,  “thanks for making breakfast.”_

_Harry blushed again, Draco was sure he had never seen him blush this much in his life, “I thought I’d make it to apologize for last night.”_

_Draco hadn’t expected that, those bloody gryffindors going right into the heart of the problem. But in for a snickle, in a for a galleon...he breathed out slowly before saying softly, “you don’t need to apologize for that.”_

_Harry gave a half hearted chuckle before sitting down next to him with their plates. “Uh, I think I do. I’m sure that’s not how you typically spend your evenings.”_

_Determinedly staring at his eggs he replied, “no...but I’ve wanted to.”_

_Harry laughed whole heartedly now, jumping up to grab the kettle and pour them tea. “Oh yes, that makes sense. Proper little Draco wanted to get trashed and dorky dance in his living room. I bet you were forced to learn all kinds of pompous dancing. I sorta remember that from the ball.”_

_“Wait, what?” Draco’s head snapped up. Is he just going to act like it never happened?_

_“The dorky dancing? And I suppose I’m apologizing for being trashed at your house the first time I came over. Hopefully you don’t hate me. Hate me again that is…” He finished with an awkward hand messing up his hair and a began to shovel eggs in his mouth like he might be kicked out any moment._

_“No, Harry I don’t hate you.” Draco began to fix his tea. He still wasn’t sure if Harry was just pretending or not, so thought it best to just go with the conversation, “if you had puked on my couch, I would have hated you no doubt.”_

_Harry chuckled, “good to know.”_

_They ate in silence until their tea was cold and their plates clean. When Harry was about to leave he turned to Draco while fixing his collar, “listen...I really am sorry for getting smashed here, I didn’t--I didn’t say anything embarrassing or anything, did I?”_

_Draco paused for a minute. Harry looked so open and trusting and he was leaving Draco’s house in the morning. It was everything Draco had wanted since he was little. Or more accurately since he was 14 and watching Harry outfly a dragon. Harry wanted to be his friend. And if his drunken state indicated anything, he wanted to possibly be more than friends. But Draco needed to not scare him away. He had to be smart about this. Even if Harry did remember something and was just faking, which Draco sincerely did not think was the case because Harry would have sneaked off before dawn never to be heard from again. So yes, Draco was going to play it safe._

_“No, Harry. Not a thing.” And with that he left._

But now it had been a week since Draco told him the truth, and he hadn’t heard anything from him. He was trying to just stay grateful he had had a few weeks of being his friend but it just didn’t seem fair.

This is my penance. Nothing in my life is fair. I’ll just--

There was a knock at the door.

Draco body went into overdrive. He knew that knock. And more importantly, no one else had ever visited him. Why was he here? Was he going to punch him? Hex him? Should he grab his wand before he opened the door? Should he act like he’s not home?

 

“Draco! Open up! It’s 7:30 I know you’re home!”

 

Well, fuck.

 

He patted his hair down and smooth out his clothes and then finally strutted over to the door, swinging it wide open. “Hello, Potter.”

 

Harry broke into a huge smile when he saw him, but his eyes were still manic. “I broke up with Ginny. Can I come in?”

 

Draco didn’t say anything, he just stepped aside to let him in. Harry sighed in relief, Draco was going to at least hear him out. He knew he had acted like a prat last week and he knew how to make it better, he just needed Draco to listen. Harry had had a very busy week.

It had started out with a panic attack, hitting him when he was halfway through the deserted dog park on his way home from Draco’s. He had to sit on a bench for a solid thirty minutes before he was positive he wouldn’t pass out when he stood up.

He had a lot of very confusing thoughts that night. Most of them denial. Some of them curiousity. Majority of them terrified.

 

He had been so freaked out, he didn’t even get drunk. He just went home, took dreamless sleep potion, and zonked for 12 hours straight.

 

The next day, he got drunk. From about noon till midnight he stayed a lovely side of tipsy.

 

The third day, he finally went to go see Ginny. Regardless of his sexuality, he knew they weren’t working. And he knew it was all his fault, and that he had to somehow make it better. After battling with himself and what he would say for roughly 8 hours, he went over.

 

_“Hey Ginny,” he said, walking up to where she sat on the porch swing. It was almost dusk and she looked so beautiful in the light. He had to take a deep breath, he wanted to be with her so badly but not the way she wanted. He didn’t want to lose her or the family, or Ron, and it just made everything hurt._

_“We’re breaking up, aren’t we?” She nudged his shoulder._

_“Gin, I’m so sorry--”_

_She turned toward him, a very determined look on a her face. “Don’t be. I mean it Harry. It isn’t working, and we shouldn’t force it. I’m not...what you need, right?”_

_Harry blanched, “it’s not like that.”_

_Ginny laughed lightly, “yes it is. It’s ok Harry.”_

_“How--How do you know?”_

_“You were never particularly good at controlling your thoughts.”_

_“Have you been listening?” Harry squeaked._

_Ginny laughed, deep this time, “no, you git, I meant on your face. Like right now. When you have that horribly shocked face on. That’s all the conformation I’d ever need.”_

_They both breathed at that and settled deeper into the couch. “Will we be ok?” Harry whispered, he hadn’t had to use any of the words he had planned on and now he was lost._

_“Of course. You’re family.” And that was the truth. They were all family, and that’s why it hurt so bad._

_They were quite a long time after that, and when the sun had finally gone down and the air turned chilly, Harry stood to leave, grasping Ginny’s shoulder in an awkward, comforting sort of way._

_“You’ll find the right guy for you, Gin. I know it.”_

_And when a knowing twinkle in her eye that outshone the sadness, she said, “so will you.”_

And for the next few days after that, Harry had drank a lot of strong tea and done a lot of experimenting. He hadn’t actually done anything with anyone, but he used his imagination. And he bought some lube. And a very other things at a very humiliating trip to the local adult toy store.

He had started simple enough, he laid down and imagined lying down with another man. Maybe reaching out and holding that man’s hand. He tried to keep the man faceless, just focusing on the hardlines of his body, the definition, the lack of soft and squishy He held his hand and softly caressed his thumb, they were strong hands, tan maybe, with thick fingers, and hairy knuckles…

...but then that didn’t feel right, so they started morphing. But Harry didn't notice at first, he was then feeling the scruff on the strangers cheek, trying to figure out how that would feel. Weird? Or...maybe sexy? Manly? His trousers tightened. The hand that came to cup his was thin, long, pale fingers, that looked so familiar. With a tinge of recognition, Harry stilled. Those were Malfoy’s hands. But to keep this particular experiment, er, scientific, then he needed to imagine all kinds of different males, to make sure he was indeed homosexual and not just Malfoy-sexual.

Draco-sexual, but no not Malfoy-sexual. That opened way too many doors. No. Draco-sexual.

 

So, then Harry went to harder things. He imagined what it would be like to be able to feel a naked male. He laid on his side on the bed, a pillow vertical to him, and trailed his hand up and down the pillow with his eyes closed, feeling the ripple of muscle under his hand, the lines of a chest, the soft trail of hair...blonde hair...pale skin…

 

That was the first night he jacked off to Draco. It was not the last.

 

And after all that experimenting, he came to three very important conclusions.

  1. The quidditch players in Quidditch Quarterly and celebrities in Witch Weekly were extremely manly and extremely hot

  2. Wanking to a man had improved the experience by 200%

  3. He had a crush on Draco Malfoy




 

He wasn’t exactly sure what to do with those conclusions, except that he needed to do something. So he went to Insomniacs. And he did his best to flirt to someone of the same sex, he thought he’d try his newfound sexually flirting skills and see if it was returned.

“Hey Brian,” Harry said with a sickening sweet smile the next morning.

“Earl Grey Guy! It’s been a long time, where have you been hiding?”

“Well, I tried to stay away and look where it got me. You’re just too irresistible.” Harry somehow resisted the urge to blush, Brian didn’t though. He was quite the red barista as he waved off Harry’s bill and made his tea.

He also got a scone he did not order.

So apparently he wasn’t totally unappealing and odd in this new world. He smiled to himself as he walked around some more, sipping on his tea and pondering what sex really would be like with a man. What living with another man would be like, what doing anything with another man would be like. Being with a woman had always seemed so unnatural and awkward to him, but flirting with Brain had been easy...It was time to act.

 

Which is what lead him to Dracos after a full week after his abrupt departure. He knew that Draco would be mad, furious, but he also knew he could make it better. He knew he could fix it. After the third knock on the door he impatiently yelled “Draco! Open up! It’s 7:30 I know you’re home!”

 

The door finally opened to a harassed looking Draco, full of defiance. But Harry knew better than to trust the cold tone of Draco’s “Hello Potter.”

 

Harry didn’t waste any time, “I broke up with Ginny, can I come in?” and he didn’t wait for Draco’s nod but rushed inside anyway. “I’m so sorry Draco, I really fucked up.”

 

No answer.

 

Harry hadn’t been expecting one.

 

“Listen, I know you probably don’t want to listen, but just hear me out ok? I know I fucked up by running out of here the other day--”

 

“Week.”

 

“What?”

 

“Its been a week,” Draco leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “A whole bloody week and then you just come over, uninvited, right at my dinner time--”

“just listen, ok, please?” Harry asked and Draco gave a slight nod and outreached his arm as if to say carry on. “I’ve done some serious thinking and--” he paused, and in less than a second he changed his mind on the long and thought out speech he had made in the last 24 hours. No. He was Harry James Potter and he was a spontaneous Gryffindor damnit and if he was reading Draco right he knew this was this way to go. “--I think it’s not fair I can’t remember our first kiss.”

 

Draco blinked. “What?” He barely whispered.

 

“It’s really a shame. I’ve tried really hard to remember it...but I just can’t. Can you tell me what it was like?”

There was a very long pause as Draco seemed to be preoccupied with deciding whether or not Harry was seriously asking him.

“Uh, well, it was...um, nice?”

Harry took a step closer, “could you perhaps, be more descriptive?”

“Wet?” Harry could see Draco’s face start to pink.

“Oh come on, Malfoy, you can do better than that.”

And all at once, Harry was grabbed and slammed against the wall Draco had just been resting on, Draco was a stood close but not touching. Harry could feel Draco hot breath on his lips, making him dizzy.

“Well, Potter, essentially you ravaged me, you were uncontrollable. You grabbed my wrist,” Draco said, stroking his thumb against the hammering pulse point on Harry’s wrist to bring attention to it, “and then you pulled until I had no choice but to press my lips against yours.” Draco pulled slightly, but it just brought him closer to Harry, barely hovering over his lips.

“But Draco,” Harry whispered, “you always have a choice.”

And that was all it took, Draco slammed his lips against Harry’s and all Harry could do was let out a strangled sound and take it. He was kissing Draco Malfoy. And he loved it. He loved every caress of his lips and pointed flick of his tongue. He needed more but somehow couldn’t get his body to move with him. He was frozen and all he wanted for the rest of his life was to give to this man completely and forever and just try to understand what it was he did to Harry.

But Draco wasn’t having any of that. He coaxed Harry into responding...and when he did--it was what Harry had been missing.  It was pure heat and need and power and it consumed him. He arched up into Draco’s body feeling something so deliciously hard against his thigh. This was a man, this was a man that wanted him, that needed him, that could fuck him, that could take him inside, that was anything he wanted. Draco could be everything he ever needed.

 

The thought spurred him into action, he flipped them, lifting Draco’s hands above their heads and locking them together as he attacked his mouth, shoving him needily against the wallpaper. He was rough and it was okay. He moaned as Draco met his tongue and the rolls of his hips. They couldn’t help it, it was everything that 8 years of tension that brought together. It was a need that Harry couldn’t explain mostly because he had never felt anything remotely like this. He understood now. This feeling was addictive. It was like nothing he had ever done before.

He needed Draco’s lips on him more than he needed air, and when Draco pulled back gulping for it, and they rested their foreheads together, and Draco’s eyes were closed as if he didn’t want to open them and face this reality that could so easily be a dream...Harry knew he was lost. He released on hand, moving both of Draco’s to be held by his one hand, to slowly touch Draco’s face. It was completely free of imperfections, so unlike the interior of this man. His hand looked so tan in contrast from the paleness of the cheekbone that stood out from the flush…

“Do you think we could choose to count this as our first kiss?” Harry whispered against Draco’s flesh, his lips absolutely refusing to leave the blondes skin, he nuzzled the invisible 5 o’clock shadow on Draco’s face, feeling like that hair was there as a gift for him. Like it was a secret present that no one but someone as close as he could feel and touch and get to experience.

 

He was so preoccupied with sucking Draco’s pulse point and jaw line that he almost missed Dracos strangled answer, but he heard it, just barely, “It all comes down to our choices.”

 

Harry pulled back, looking Draco dead in the eye so he would see in no uncertain terms, so he could see just what Harry was thinking and that he was completely sincere in his actions. He leaned in and kissed him, letting him Draco know exactly what he had chosen.  

 

Draco pulled away and yanked his white linen shirt over his head, giving Harry a crooked grin, he grabbed Harry and pulled him in for another kiss, showing the raven haired man that he too had made his choice.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW. I hope you all enjoyed Part One. I'm sure enjoying finishing it! Thank you for all the wonder support as I get this story of our boys out of my head a bit! Those poor babies...but they always figure it out in the end though <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my story!
> 
> The boys and I had a lot of fun writing it. 
> 
> The next chapter should be uploaded soon,
> 
> Happy Shipping!


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